


Security Blanket

by littlemissaily



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 01:29:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemissaily/pseuds/littlemissaily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's really just a needy child with a shock blanket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Security Blanket

**Author's Note:**

> This is another repost of an old fill I did over a year back, for the SherlockBBC-fic group on livejournal.  
> Disclaimer: I do not own or have any hand in the actual television show Sherlock. This piece is a work of fiction, created for fun and not profit.

It is five in the morning, an overall detestable time of day, and Sherlock Holmes is awake. Perhaps this wouldn't have been too unusual some two or three years ago -- back then, it'd been unusual if he'd had a case and had even been near the bed at all at this time. But, as he is wont to do, John Watson had come into Sherlock's life and changed things, like his eating habits, and his social habits, and -- the point of this whole anecdote -- his sleeping schedule.  
  
Unfortunately, Sherlock has now gotten accustomed to a slightly more regular schedule of six hours of sleep a night when not on a case and a minimum of three hours of sleep while on a case. John gets careless sometimes and allows them to pull an all-nighter, but they're assured to collapse within 48 hours, at least. The first time Sherlock actually collapses in John's time with him, he's amazed; he'd only been up about 56 hours, at most, and he knows that he's lasted at least 84 hours in the past, perhaps more. (He'd gone into delusions past 84 and wasn't sure if he was conscious and imagining things or simply lucid dreaming.) Point is: 56 is child's play and Sherlock would be much more disappointed with himself if not for the pure entertainment he gets from watching John fuss over him. One of his new favorite things to do when he's bored is to pull out the shock blanket and sit around the flat in it. John still worries over him whenever the blanket comes out. It's a habit that Sherlock is amazed that John has yet to be trained out of.  
  
Except, that may not be true right now, because it is five in the morning, Sherlock Holmes is awake, and he is sitting in his arm chair in the parlor with the shock blanket over his shoulders and John is barely sparing him a glance. Sherlock is decidedly not pleased, and that is for more reasons than just being awake at five in the morning. This doesn't change the fact that he intends to sit here until John notices him. Sherlock has even put on a moderately nice suit, the very same one he'd worn when they first met and one that he only wears for certain occasions now. Perhaps if he continues to stare and John determinedly and very much pointedly, John will actually turn to give him attention. Sherlock refuses to have to speak yet. Using his voice is a last resort.  
  
Ten minutes later, John seems finally to feel the wrath of Sherlock's gaze, or he just runs out of things to do, whatever it is he's doing. Sherlock likes to imagine his gaze is just that powerful.  
  
"Ah, good morning Sherlock. It's a bit early for you, isn't it? What are you doing up?" It takes a moment for Sherlock's state of dress to register for John. "Why are you dressed?"  
  
Sherlock smirks and imperiously pulls the shock blanket tighter around his shoulders. "Because I think you are about to leave me, and I didn't want to be wearing a dressing gown."  
  
Exasperated may be the least word to describe John's expression at the moment. "Sherlock, we've discussed this. I'm just going on vacation for a week with my family. I'm not _leaving_ you."  
  
"Yes, you are. You are leaving. You will come back. But you are, factually, leaving me, at this point in time."  
  
"I _invited_ you to come along. But _you_ declined, rather emphatically if I recall." The pointed look that John sends him tempts Sherlock to evade eye contact, but he is the _genius_ Sherlock Holmes: he will not stand down to a man half-a-head shorter than him.  
  
"Your sister threatened me, with inane tourist attractions, also known as _torture_."  
  
"I highly doubt touring French and Spanish castles are 'torture'. I quite enjoy them, thank you."  
  
Sherlock snorts slightly. "Your taste is so mundane and _average_ sometimes."  
  
"I am not rising to your bait, Sherlock. I am finished packing, I have all of my papers, and the cab will be here to take me to the airport within the next half-hour. You can sit here and whine or you can secure yourself a last minute seat on that plane and grab the luggage that I know you've had packed under your bed for the past week."  
  
Sherlock's only response is an unappreciative sniff.  
  
John calls after him, "And if you're going to bring the blanket, please pack it in your case rather than bringing it through security."  
  
John resists the urge to laugh when Sherlock emerges ten minutes later, with John's laptop balanced precariously in his right hand, the blanket rolled and stuffed under his right arm, and his left foot dragging his case along as he types with his left hand.  
  
"You moved our seats, didn't you?" John asks knowingly. The smile that tugs at his mouth is so very hard not to give free reign.  
  
"I refuse to sit next to two people with single-name monikers. They may be Mycroft's lackeys."  
  
"I'm sure, Sherlock. Just know that Harry will insist on placing us on opposite ends of the aisle, and Mum may want to sit beside you and chat your ear off. Dad should leave you alone, at least."  
  
Sherlock simply hums in assent. The blanket stays tucked under his shoulder until he falls asleep on the plane and John's Mum pulls it out to tuck him in. It also manages to sneak its way into a fair amount of their trip photos, but John has yet to scold Sherlock for it.  
  
 **End.**


End file.
